


Now I'm versed in so much worse

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Sexual Assault Survivor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just two damned souls...</p><p>Smutty sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3177066">Damned if you do</a> - nothing more, nothing less. </p><p>Bela centric. Not plot relevant for H&H.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I'm versed in so much worse

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Going to Hell_ by The Pretty Reckless.
> 
> This is a consensual, casual sex scene told from the POV sexual assault survivor. It isn't mentioned but it was written with that in mind. This chapter was written for the sake of itself and is not plot relevant at all to H&H (reading the previous story gives you all the plot details for this relationship). If you think this content may be a problem for you you won't miss anything if you skip it. <3

Bela watches carefully as John Constantine unlocks first the magical wards and then the front door to his flat. She would never understand why he lives the way he does. The man is one of the best occultists in the world. He should be able to have whatever he wants. There is no logical reason for him to live in a grimy one-bedroom flat in Brixton. She’s seen him charm and _charm_ his way into palaces. It just doesn’t make sense.

But that was always part of his manner. He cultivates confusion. Man of mystery and all that nonsense. So she follows him into the little living room and cautiously sits down on the tatty old sofa. It is actually surprisingly comfortable despite its appearance. She wonders if there’s any magic behind that.

He shrugs out of the signature raincoat and tosses it across the back of the sofa. She doesn’t jump.

“So,” John says and hands her a glass of peaty whisky. “Nick anything I should know about, lately?”

“You’re hilarious, John. As usual,” she says sardonically. Takes a sip of scotch. It’s good not the cheap swill he used to drink in Ireland. Smooth and smoke rich with a light underlying sweetness and a long dark finish. If she was more sentimental she could make that a metaphor.

“I meant it,” he says with a shrug and sits down next to her. “I’ve had to clean up enough of your cock ups, a warning might be nice.”

He throws one arm casually across the back of the couch behind her. Takes a long sip of scotch. Every movement is always exaggerated. He knows the effect he has on people and plays it up. And she knows it’s all a construction. A physical con. Knows how to play all the same games herself. But it works anyway.

“That was one demon in one museum, it wasn’t that big a deal,” she says dismissively.

He gives her an incredulous look and leans back a bit. “It was a bloody Sumerian Demon Lord and it was the British Museum. Do you know how big that place is?”

“Yes,” she says. “I did have a _very_ expensive education and I’ve robbed it twice.”

He laughs and she doesn’t know if it is at her expense or his.

She takes another sip of her drink. Licks her lips chasing the sweet and salt taste. Constantine’s eyes track the movement and she gives him a tight smile when their gazes meet. Puts her glass on the coffee table and moves in. She’s had enough of words and games for one night. This was meant to be a distraction not a reminder. He moves to meet her. Warm, human, and a little drunk – just like that one night in Dublin.

It is an oddly tentative kiss. Drawn out and sensual. She’s still not sure who is seducing whom but she can already tell she’s going to enjoy the game no matter what. She places a hand on his cheek – it seems tender but it gives her control. Lets her pull and push. Deepen the kiss and run a thumb across stubble.

Constantine’s arm leaves the couch and wraps around her waist. Pulls her in close. A firm, hot hand in the middle of her back urging her up against him.

He breaks the kiss far too soon. Leans to the side to put down his glass. Catches her free hand in his and brings it to his lips. It’s purposefully coy. A mockery of them both – the Cambridge educated thief and the Liverpool punk.

He stands and draws her up with him. There is a moment where they’re looking at each other. Assessing the threat and guessing all the angles. Then in the same breath they both throw caution to the wind and crash together more desperate and eager than before.

John manages to lead them into the bedroom between frantic kisses and roaming hands. She pulls his tie loose and tosses it aside. Starts in on the buttons of his shirt. Then he has his lips on her throat, pushes at one of the straps of her dress and exposes her shoulder. Kisses a tempting line along the smooth skin of her shoulder before pulling her back towards the bed.

They work together briefly to remove his shirt. Then she spins so he can unzip her dress. He runs his hands up her sides through the dress first. Strong fingers digging into soft silk clad flesh. Pulls at her hips and grinds against her as he continues to kiss her shoulders and neck. She can feel the hot hard line of his arousal press into her and she catches her breath. Holds it until his hands finally find their way to the zipper. Freeing her from the tailored fabric.

The dress drops to the floor and she steps free. Glances over her shoulder to take in John’s expression.

He meets her eye. “You know you’re bloody beautiful, Bells?”

“So people tell me,” she says with a pointedly arched eyebrow.

“Well it’s bleeding true.”

He moves again before she has to react to that. Caressing every inch of exposed skin with hands, lips and teeth. Undoes her bra and wraps himself around her from behind. Cups one breast under the lace, kneading softly with the occasional barely there brush against her nipple. He slides the other down her tummy. Kisses the other side of her neck this time. His hand skips her garter belt and slides directly into the lace and satin of her knickers. She gasps when his fingers trace her labia with the softest possible pressure. Leans backward into his bare chest. Reaches for his hips to tug him in harder against her.

She has to bite her lip to stop from crying out when he relents and slides the rough skin of his finger across her clit. Burns his finger prints into the hot warm flesh. So good it almost hurts. She twists her head so she can catch his lips with hers. She slips free of her brassiere. And lets the burning tease continue for as long as she can stand it. Feels Constantine smile into her neck at every hitched and gasped breath.

When the tender heat gets too much she pulls away and turns to face him. Kicks off her shoes and drags them both towards the bed.

It’s a mess. Nothing more than a fancy mattress on the floor and a jumble of sheets and blankets that may or may not have ever actually been made up. It’s covered in books but nothing that looks worth a distraction at this point so she just shoves it all aside. And pulls John back with her. He chuckles rich and smoke rough. Slides to his knees next to the supposed bed and looks up at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

John scratches his nails up her legs. She loves that catch and drag of silk stockings caught between skin. Then he’s unbuckling each suspender with suspiciously practiced ease. Rolling the stocking down off her leg and laying a row of kisses down her thigh in their wake. Each one further inspires the sweet ache of desire in her core. Heats the skin and leaves her wanting.

Bela helps him work her free of the last remnants of her lingerie. Takes note of where they fall – because she knows where she is and what she’s doing even when her skin feels like it’s on fire. Before she knows it he’s moving again and buries his face between her legs. She cries out at the sudden intense feeling of tongue on sensitive velvet skin. She closes her eyes and tries not to whimper. Fingers scrabbling in soft cotton. Her toes curl against the tingling tension already building within. Every minute movement he makes brings her just that little bit closer. The scratch of his stubble teases at more, scratching softly against her and offering a contrast or pressures.

She grabs the back of his head when she comes. Holds him in place and just rides that sweet hot wave with a muffled cry. When he licks at her again she pushes him off. It burns too bright. An incandescent type of pleasure.

“Up here,” she orders. “And keep quite.” He smirks at her but complies must see something in her eyes or maybe remembers her aversion to being spoken to in intimate situations. Either way he sits next to her to take off his shoes and gives her a few moments to breath. Her skin cools in the air. She unbuckles his belt as he crawls up the bed next to her. He gets the hint and loses the trousers. Reaches past her to grab a condom off the window sill – because that is such an obvious place. He rips the packet open with his teeth which makes her heart race for some reason. Then he makes a show of the whole process. And seeing as she’s here, like this, she lets herself enjoy it. Somehow they’re kissing again and she can smell and taste herself on his tongue. Sweet and musky.

“On your back,” she says. He’s giving her one of those inquisitive looks so she shoves him into place instead. Which makes him laugh but she doesn’t think he’s mocking her this time. She doesn’t really bother examining it. Her body has already decided what it wants. They’re both at her mercy. She kisses him again, distracts him, while she guides their bodies together. He’s well-endowed but not huge and it’s just the right amount of stretch and satisfaction.

She’s wet and ready and god it feels good. But she hesitates. Forces herself to go slow. Takes every inch at a time. Even though she burns for more. She can see him fighting the urge to just thrust upward. She fights through the tension that is already starting to build again. Reminds herself to breath and finally, slowly, inexorably, slides down on top of him. And when she finally has him deep inside her she bends down and kisses him while she starts that sweet slip and slide motion. Rocks her hips and catches her lips on his. Breath coming sharper and faster with each movement. It's desperate and stilted and a little bit amazing.

When her body starts to ache again and the tension gets too much she pulls out of the kiss to braces her arms on his shoulders. Uses his body for leverage. Uses him to bring herself back to the edge. His hands are on her again. Exploring her flesh and dragging more tingling shocks of heat across her skin. And they’re moving together finding a rhythm that works. Every second or third thrust her over-sensitive clit scraps across skin and she whimpers. She starts to ride him hard and he holds her close and matches her pace for pace. Crushing their bodies together to find that final high point. Bela tenses her muscles so she can feel the shape and friction of the man inside her. Gasping for that burning, tingling, ache.

He must feel her start to lose the pace. Her thighs stuttering as the heat pools and presses deep and taut inside her. He picks up the rhythm and arches up to meet her. Kisses her through each building wave of bliss. Grips her skin. Holds her in the moment, lets everything come together in a dance of stimulation. She licks a sweet stripe along his neck, nips at his ear. Tries to distract herself and hold that sweet tension just a little longer. But it’s too much. Her whole body tenses and rocks into the orgasm. It’s different from the first. The first was flickering over-sensitive rush of tingling heat. This is like a wall of hard and heavy release. Every nerve sings out with it. She clenches down so hard and tense it's painful but then the moment that it breaks is like flying. Light and blessedly free for those few seconds of bliss. The world goes white behind her eyes and she falls forward. Arms trembling.

She hears a gasping moan and feels John still inside her. Holding onto her for dear life as he rides his own come down. She breathes. Sucks in air that she seemed to have forgotten about during that storm of heat and friction. He moves to kiss her but she evades it. Doesn’t care that it makes him frown.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” he asks. She nods and slides away from him. Leaves him to cool in his mess of a bed. Avoids eye contact and stands up. Starts getting dressed quickly. She doesn’t want to linger. Doesn’t want to risk any more sympathy.

Constantine lights a cigarette, rolls onto one side and watches her. She ignores him at first. Finds her lingerie and reassembles herself. Starts pulling her dress on. He doesn’t say anything despite having permission to speak again. Cleans himself up a bit then just watches her. And that’s almost worse.

“Oh,” she says, like it’s an afterthought. Pulls her dress back into place like raw silk armour. Keeps her back to the naked exorcist. “What do you know about cursed luck charms?”

“Hmmm?” is all he says. But she can hear what he means. Can hear him figuring out that it’s what she wanted all along. Even hears the slight sniff of self-distain at the end of it. She’s glad he can’t see her face. Doesn’t want him to read her expression. Would rather leave him thinking this was all part of the con. It’s easier that way.

She decides to push, because she knows he can help her on this one. “Didn’t you and some US hunter deal with that cursed rabbit foot a few years back?” she asks. Knows he did. Knows the gossip. It’s her job to know this stuff.

“That won’t help you, luv,” he says at last. Doesn’t deny it. “It’s _real_ dark American hoodoo. You don’t need none of that.”

“It isn’t for me,” she snaps. Because why does everything have to be about Hell with him. She doesn’t need the reminder. She can feel her counter ticking down without his pity. She schools her countenance then turns back around to give him a winning smile. “It’s a _job_. I’ll cut you in?”

“Nah, luv,” he says. “I don’t have it. Even if I did not sure I’d be selling something that black. And John Winchester’s dead so no point botherin’ him about it neither.”

It’s a hint. The second name he’s given her tonight. He won’t outright help her but it’ll be enough. She’ll make it work. She’ll look after herself. The way she always has and always will.

“Thanks,” she says. Slips back into her pumps and her persona at the same time. “That’s _all_ I needed.”

“Happy to help,” he says it light but he’s still watching her in a way that says he knows too much.

She pauses in the bedroom doorway. Looks back one last time. “See you ‘round Johnny.”

And his rueful smile says it all. He doesn’t even need to voice the words. _See you in Hell, luv._


End file.
